


warm

by oceanism



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, M/M, solangelo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanism/pseuds/oceanism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts when Will saves Nico from a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	warm

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. I wasn't able to proofread properly. I wrote this in three days, though, because I'm a super slow writer. It's not much for some of you, but it's the longest oneshot I've ever written. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

At first, it had been flattering. Suspicious, but flattering.

Not like Nico would ever admit that he was the slightest bit flattered by some stranger’s attention. It was merely a side effect of the novelty of someone staring at him with something other than fear, distaste, or judgment. Nothing more than that. The guy wasn’t even his type. Rather, for the most part, Nico considered himself _indifferent_ , but if identification was absolutely necessary, he would admit that his type _would_ —because this was, after all, _hypothetical_ —consist of guys with dark hair and sea-green eyes, perfect smiles and a penchant for bad jokes. Usually out of his league.

Heh. He wouldn’t know about _usually_ , actually. He’d only ever liked one guy, after all, and said guy didn’t even know that he was gay.

Anyway, within a few days, the stranger’s blatant staring simmered from flattering to creepy. And he was _Nico di Angelo_. If anything, _he_ tended to creep people out, not the other way around. Based on this, he could only conclude that whoever you were, too much of someone staring at you like you were a piece of medium-rare steak would make you at least a little uncomfortable. Unless you were into that sort of thing. Nico grimaced at the thought. And people called _him_ creepy. Honestly.

The desire to march over, tell the guy to cut it out, he was creepy, and Nico wasn’t interested was almost overwhelming and only growing with every second that passed. But so was the desire to not cause a scene or draw attention, so he settled for sending his _Death Glare of Doom™_ over his shoulder in five minute intervals. If his luck was good, the guy might give up and leave. Hopefully never come back.

But really, when was the last time that his luck had been good?

(Hint: He couldn’t remember.)

A part of him wasn’t even surprised when one evening, after a week of passive-aggressive surveillance, Nico spotted the stranger seated at _Nico’s_ usual table. Still, the sight made him stop only three feet past the stately oak doors, and it made him release an exasperated noise that was somewhere between a groan, a grumble, and a curse word. His feet were quick to carry him to the other side of the library. Never mind that said side was a little more illuminated than the one that Nico usually frequented and, hence, attracted more people. It was a Friday night anyway, so barely any library-goers were present as opposed to the usual.

Heavy footfalls. Expensive cologne that made his nose twitch. Nico sighed again. The stranger came over just as he was actually getting into his book. _Good timing, man._

The guy made himself at home on the seat right next to Nico’s, even when there were five other chairs facing the particular table alone. He shifted the seat so that he was even closer to Nico than he had been.

Nico bristled and shot him a scowl. Had he no shame?

His response came in the form of a sleazy smile and a, “Hey, baby.” He leaned closer. Nico leaned back. “So, I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed all this tension between us.”

“I haven’t, actually,” he replied with the driest tone that he could muster.

The stranger laughed, as if Nico had just told him an extremely funny joke.

He wasn’t bad-looking, really. In fact, if Nico were looser about things like this, he would admit that the guy was actually pretty cute. Probably popular with ladies and gentlemen alike, what with his rugged, chiseled features, brown, a-little-too-long hair, football player body (he was even wearing a _varsity jacket_ , for God’s sake; how stereotypical could you get?), and forward attitude.

But…

“You’re funny, baby. And I was thinking, hey, why don’t we release some of the tension? My apartment’s just down the street, but I’m fine with doing it in here, too. It’s pretty dark between the bookshelves and no one goes to the History section. That enough privacy for you?” He leaned forward again, grin widening. “’Cause I’m pretty sure you’re just as excited as I am and we might not be able to hold back before we get there, you know?” Then he did this low chuckle thing that he probably thought was sexy.

Nico wasn’t interested in sleeping with someone he barely knew, he was a sleaze, he wasn’t Nico’s type, and he was a _sleaze._

Like, who propositioned sex to random strangers?

On that thought, how did he even know that Nico was gay? Was he _that_ obvious? He was pretty sure that he was good at hiding it. The list of the people he had told consisted of three people: Bianca, Hazel, and Reyna, and he knew that they would never betray his trust. Or maybe the guy actually didn’t know that Nico was gay, and he was the type of person who asked anyway. And he was confident, too. How considerate.

“You don’t have to worry about protection, too. I’ve got condoms, so you won’t get like, gonorrhea or something. Not like I have gonorrhea,” he leered, “but even if I had, I bet you—“

Nico couldn’t take this anymore. “I’m not interested.”

“Playing hard-to-get, are we?” He did that chuckle thing again. It was getting on Nico’s nerves. “But I know you’re lying, baby. You want me as much as I want you. If you didn’t want me, then why did you stay near your table and shoot me all those glances?

“Seriously?” Was this guy for real? “I was glaring at you. And you can’t just expect me to give up my favorite table just because some nearby creeper’s eye-fucking me. But then you even got me to actually move across the library. Take a hint.”

And he’s about to stand up and move to another table, preferably one nearer to the elderly librarian who didn’t even seem to notice that something was going on, when the sleaze actually _grabs_ his forearm. “Baby, playing hard-to-get can be hot and all, but you’re seriously testing my patience here. I always get what I want. Trust me, I’ll make you feel so go—“

A wave of revulsion washes over him and his vision drowns in _red_. He yanks back his arm and steps back, fists clenched and book completely forgotten on the table. His mouth tasted like copper and salt and too late he realized that he had been biting it this whole time, but the taste was nothing compared to the bile rising from his stomach.

“Don’t touch me!”

Finally, the guy seemed to realize that Nico really wasn’t interested. Did that deter him?

But he had only taken one menacing step forward before Nico felt the presence of someone else beside him.

 _One of his cronies…?_ Nico’s heart dropped to his stomach. Maybe he could have fought the pervert off, but two of them? There was a really small chance of him succeeding, and he really didn’t want to bring the old woman behind the counter into this.

“Sweetheart,” said an unfamiliar voice. _Sweetheart? Me?_ “Sorry I’m late. The prof’s lecture went on longer than usual.”

_…What?_

Slowly, he turned his head. Nico’s own eyes were shrouded, shadowed, and so dark that you could barely see the brown in them. It was almost impossible for just anyone to tell what lurked behind his irises—a fact that he certainly took advantage of—for if the eyes were the windows to the soul, then his soul must be really dark. Or at least it had really dark curtains.

But the eyes that met his gaze head on were the opposite. Startlingly bright and blue; and they reminded him of the sky from his childhood back in rural Italy. Thoughts flitted across them like clouds on a sunny sky, clear as day, and if eyes could speak these ones would be shouting, _Just go with it!_

Now Nico understood what he was doing.

“…Sweetheart? Are you mad at me?” There was a look of such contrition in those eyes and there was no other word for it other than _sincere_. Nico wondered if he was a theater major. “I’m really sorry for being late again, but the prof—“

“No, uh, it’s fine,” he mumbled, and it took all his self-control not to laugh out loud or cringe at how bad he was at this.

The pervert was staring at them. Was that look one of shock, or skepticism? Pessimist that he was, Nico gulped, because, oh, great, he wasn’t going to believe them, was he?

And the _other_ guy seemed to have sensed it, too, because he placed his arm around Nico’s waist. The act was gentle and deliberate, but it still took all his willpower not to tense or let any sign of discomfort surface on his facial features.

It would be embarrassing to the _nth_ power. Nico felt his heart rate speed up—was that even _possible?_ —and his blood flow from all the other parts of his body to his cheeks. But nevertheless, he shifted closer to his pseudo-boyfriend (trust him to be able to get a boyfriend only under circumstances such as these) and kissed him on the cheek. “…I’m not mad.”

“I’m glad,” and he could hear the smile in that voice, but he was far too preoccupied with staring at anywhere _other_ than his left to look, “Do you need anything?” This time, the voice was directed at Nico’s harasser, friendly and amiable still but with more than a hint of protectiveness.

Whether the kiss had convinced him or he had finally decided to give up, Nico couldn’t tell. But that didn’t matter, because after one last glare, the stranger stomped away. The college student’s gaze traced him as he made his way through the maze of tables and chairs and finally, outside. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, and for the first time that day, he found that he was able to relax completely.

The sound of someone clearing his throat snapped him out of his mini-celebration, and it was with another blush—so he’d turned into a damsel in distress now, huh—that he realized that the stranger’s arm was still around his waist, fingertips resting lightly on his hipbone. His touch was warm. It took him zero point six seconds to leap away. For some reason, he felt like half of the classic cliché couple leaping away from each other when someone enters the room without knocking. Which was stupid, because the arrangement of limbs was for the _greater good_ and not something stupid like being an actual couple.

Silence. Then, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Nico coughed, toeing the carpet with the tip of his sneaker. “Thanks.”

“Anyone decent would do the same thing. Or something along those lines.”

He felt some inexplicable urge to add, “You didn’t have to, though. I could have handled him,” and he did, except he trailed off at the end so it came out more like, “You didn’t have to, though. I could have…,” because he realized how stupid and nonsensical it would be. The deed was done. No use for asinine statements.

There was a laugh, and Nico started, but he allowed himself to breathe again when he realized that there was nothing malevolent or malicious about it. It was light and _musical_ , almost, but it was the type of laugh that laughed _with_ you, not _at_ you. It was the laugh that finally made him tear off his gaze from the ugly carpet.

The nameless savior remained nameless, but now he had a face, and it matched his laugh perfectly. Light and musical. _Can a face be musical?_ and this he wondered idly as he sneakily glanced at the flaxen-haired soul with flawlessly tanned skin and flawlessly white teeth. He was a little bit taller than Nico and his eyes were closed, but he knew that when open they were bright and blue and clear as day.

“Like hell I was going to ignore that.” A ghost of a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I did?”

Another rush of heat assaulted Nico’s cheeks, accompanied by an unimpressed scowl that practically evaporated when the stranger does that carefree, open-mouthed, close-eyed laugh again.

“Man, I hate people like him.” Now he was frowning.

“Tell me about it.” Nico sighed.

He looked like he was about to say something—Nico found it absurd how much he wanted the statement to be a variant of _‘Maybe I should, over a cup of coffee,’_ and quickly shook the thought away because it was only a _side effect_ of, well, _something_ , and it was _stupid_ —but then a tiny buzz caught both their attentions. It was coming from the blonde’s pocket. He pulled out what was most likely his phone and shot a nervous glance at the elderly librarian (who, predictably, did not notice anything) before looking at the screen.

Nico watched his features shift from neutrality to worry and his fingers fly across the screen with impressive speed. Then he looked up, and Nico didn’t know if he was imagining the regret on those features. He decided not to dwell on it. “I have to go.”

He already knew that those words were going to come out, but it still took a little effort to keep his face free of disappointment. “Okay.”

The blonde patted his shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, boyfriend.”

Caught on his tongue was a reply that, surprisingly, wasn’t _‘Don’t call me that,’_ but the stranger was already slipping out the doors, and Nico was left only with the memory of a warm touch on his shoulder.

“…You, too.”

“What was that, dearie?”

It was the librarian and she was facing him, curious, bespectacled eyes owlishly widened in expectation. _Now she notices. Figures._ “Nothing, ma’am.”

What happened next was a bit of a blur, like he hadn’t been fully conscious while doing it. But he did know that he hadn’t gotten lost on the way back and that he hadn’t forgotten his book at the library, because when he woke up—the clock said his nap had been an hour long—he was surrounded by familiar posters and _The Iliad_ was on his bedside table. Then the memories from earlier surfaced in his mind, and that was when he realized that he hadn’t even gotten the pretty blonde stranger’s name, New York was a big place, and they probably wouldn’t see each other again.

It shouldn’t have bothered him so. Why was he this disappointed?

Hours passed with Nico doing nothing except staring at the ceiling while listening to music and munching on bag of chip after bag of chip, occasionally emerging from his cave for a trip to the vending machine. He had enough caffeinated drinks in his veins to last for a few more centuries, which probably didn’t help his insomnia one bit. The book taunted him from its place on the bedside table. Nico knew that he should pick it up. (Procrastination was the beginning of one’s downfall, blah blah blah.) He had a test on it tomorrow. But it reminded him too much of things that he would rather forget, and he really wasn’t feeling up to trying to make sense of randomly floating phrases.

Dyslexia was a pain.

And, apparently, so was trying not to think about something—or rather, in his case, _someone_ —but he wasn’t actually surprised. He was a person who didn’t like dwelling on many certain things, but at the same time he always had too much time to think. It was a conundrum.

Nico sighed. Honestly, he couldn’t believe how hung up he was letting himself be over this guy. They had known each other for a total of _ten minutes_. Christ.

The sound of the door being unlocked and Leo Valdez’s cheerful whistling shatters his introspection. Deciding that he didn’t feel like dealing with his roommate—or anyone, for that matter—at the moment, he rolled over and buried himself under a mound of blankets, ignoring the way that his earphones became tangled and how wakefulness still lingered in his bones, and pretended to be asleep.

There began the long, agonizing process of Nico di Angelo trying to get over someone.

(Spoiler alert: It didn’t actually last for more than two weeks.)

-

Once upon a time, he had looked at Percy Jackson with hero worship. Then over a few years, or maybe months because he couldn’t recall when exactly he had figured it out, that hero worship had evolved into something else—something far deeper than superficial admiration, or even adoration. Something that synchronized with his pulse, warmed his blood, and lingered in the edges of his vision. This continued for a long time, and then his love had not only been unrequited. It had been _growing._

Things were different now. Had been for the past few months, actually.

He would probably always have a soft spot for Percy in his heart. But no longer did his heart rate spike whenever Percy smiled or met his eyes, and no longer were his own eyes desperate to seek him out whenever they were in the same room. There was nothing more than a deep fondness now that he saw that they were better as friends.

So when Percy cornered him after class, there were no stomach flip flops or anything of the sort. It was comfortable. “Hey, Nico!”

He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Hey.”

“There’s going to be a party in the basement of the boys’ dorm later. Chiron’s on a trip so it’ll be pretty crazy. You should come with us.”

 _Us_ being, he assumed, at least half of their admittedly extensive list of mutual friends. Nico had to give it to them; at least one always made the effort to ask him to come along, even if he was known for declining within two seconds of being invited.

 _‘No,’_ was on the tip of his tongue and ready to leap, as usual, but then he faltered at the thought of what he was going to do for the rest of the night and decided that he really didn’t want to spend the next few hours trying to distract himself from thoughts of blonde hair and pretty blue eyes.

“Maybe I will.”

Surprise flittered across Percy’s features, but it was soon replaced by a bright smile that would have made Nico’s knees weak a year ago. Such a reaction for an ambiguous response that wasn’t an outright refusal; maybe Nico _should_ really get out more. “Awesome! See you there.”

He watched Percy walk away with more than a little amusement. _Really, I might as well have pinky promised._

Six hours later, Nico felt underdressed, uncomfortable, and a deluge of other adjectives that started with the letter _U_.  He stood on the last step of the stairs, right above the floor. People streamed past him in a steady line. The basement was _packed_. Far too many people crowded in the normally spacious area like sardines in a can. Some were dancing, some were talking, some were drinking from red solo cups, and some were making out. The air thrummed with conversation and the walls thumped with the beat of Top 40 music. Could it get any more stereotypical?

Then a guy ran past Nico wearing only his boxers and waving a pair of shorts in the air, all while shouting, “Sigma Beta!” repeatedly.

Yeah. This really wasn’t his scene.

Being inconspicuous was his forte, along with blending in with the wallpaper and disappearing into the shadows. And he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he slowly slid backwards, but he had only gone up for one step before he heard the sound of his name over the bass. Unfortunately, his friends had sharp eyes, and Nico wouldn’t be surprised if he ever found out that they’d been watching the entrance this whole time to see if he would actually show up.

“You came!” It was Hazel, thank God. Well, Frank trailed along behind her and Nico could see their joint hands, but whatever. Hazel brought with her peace of mind, and he felt his muscles relax.

“Hi, Nico.”

“Hey.” He greeted them both with a small smile that he knew probably looked tired and weary as hell. “I’m regretting this already.”

Nico found himself being led through the throng of people towards a corner by Hazel and her reassurances. He glanced at Frank who, while not exactly looking like he was in his element, didn’t seem uncomfortable at all either. Probably because he and Hazel were holding hands. Then his gaze traveled towards where he was being led to. It was quieter and more secluded than the rest of the party, far away from the drinks and the dancing. Nico didn’t mind. There were a bunch of tables and chairs and even sofas, some of which were occupied by Nico’s friends. A sense of relief and comfort surged through him at the sight. It was like finding an island after weeks of drifting aimlessly at sea.

Variations of _`Whoa, Nico, hi!’_ and _‘I’m so glad to see you here!’_ greeted him as he approached, but none of them seemed intent on making a huge fuss over the fact that he was actually attending a party out of his own free will. For that, he was grateful. He half-expected that they would, which was part of why he was hesitant to attend in the first place. He didn’t need to feel more isolated, nor did he want unnecessary attention on his person. But it seemed that they knew him better than he thought and he didn’t give them enough credit. Soon, he found himself in a seat between Annabeth and Jason. Percy was loudly recalling some event that had happened earlier this week and Annabeth was insisting that ‘Seaweed Brain’ was exaggerating and that was not how things had gone. Apparently, Frank had been there, too, because he occasionally offered comments of his own. Piper and Hazel were, as far as he could tell, having a discussion about 1940’s fashion. Leo kept looking over his shoulder. It could be attributed to the fact that his roommate was _the_ most fidgety person that he knew, but he suspected that it was probably more than that. Leo was probably looking for Calypso.

“So, what do you think?” The voice came from his right. Jason smiled at him before gesturing at the rest of the party. Nico caught a glimpse of the tiny, off-tone line on his friend’s lips and almost released a snort, because the story of how Jason had acquired that scar would always be funny.

He shrugged. “It’s not that bad,” he replied with a begrudging sort of acquiescence. “But I’m being lenient, because I’m pretty sure that’s only because I’m here in the corner with you guys, and not getting lost on the dance floor or something.”

“You’re too pessimistic. Who knows? You might like it.” Jason raised his eyebrows, and Nico actually let out a snort this time. Jason laughed.

“As if.”

“Hey, don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the right way to phrase it.” Nico frowned. “I mean it, though. I expected worse, but I’m actually having a decent time.”

Then his thoughts turned back to the main reason why he agreed to go in the first place, which basically defeated the entire point of dragging himself to this party, because he was thinking of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed stranger again. Shaking his head, he tried to refocus on the conversation.

Jason’s hand was on his shoulder, and it instantly reminded him of that scene in the library. Of the sensation of someone tapping him on the shoulder, and the memory of that someone’s voice saying, _‘It was nice meeting you, boyfriend.’_

He had gone to the library on the next day, and the day after that. Mostly out of habit, but if denial weren’t one of his most reliable coping mechanisms he would admit that a part of him was always looking out for any sign of the blonde. Every glance away from letters printed on paper was a second-long effort to see if he was back, and his ears pricked every time the door made a creaking sound. But the stranger never came back.

…This whole distraction thingamajig wasn’t working out very well, was it?

“Nico?” It was Jason’s voice, concerned, that snapped him back to reality.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I was thinking of… something. What were you saying?”

Jason had the patience of a saint. “That we’re all glad to see you here, really. And that you should hang out with us more.”

Nico smiled. “I’ll try.” Then a trio of chairs on the other end of the table caught his attention. There were five empty chairs, but three of them were respectively occupied by a purse, a backpack, and a phone. He knew that Thalia and Reyna were on the way, but for who were the other seats? “Who’s sitting there?”

Jason followed his gaze. “Some friends of Percy and Annabeth. They left to get drinks just before you arrived.” And he must have caught the surprised and mildly horrified look on Nico’s face, because he hastened to add, “They’re nice. I think you’ll like them. Don’t even think about leaving now, Nico. Reyna and Thalia haven’t even arrived yet.”

“I was not thinking about leaving,” he grumbled half-heartedly.

But before Jason could retort, Percy let out a loud whoop. “Took you long enough! Where’s Cecil?”

Nico guessed that he was probably speaking to the occupants of the three seats. Or two out of three, if you took into consideration the content of Percy’s statement.

“Don’t blame us! Blame Cecil. He’s actually the reason why we took a long time, y’know,” replied a voice that was undeniably feminine. The statement was followed by two pairs of laughter, and Nico’s stomach did a flip flop, because why did that one laugh sound so familiar?

There was the sound of chairs scraping the floor as they were pulled back and the clink of full glasses as they were placed on the table, then, “Cecil’s off with this girl he knows from Economics II.”

Nico froze.

Nico froze because he would recognize that voice _anywhere_. Same voice that had been haunting his thoughts for the past fortnight, and hearing it in person felt like a sucker punch, in such a way that Nico found that he couldn’t breathe properly, except it was much more pleasant, and he wasn’t sure if his similes were even making sense right now. Slowly, he lifted his eyes.

Sitting on the seat that had previously been occupied by a broomstick-patterned purse was a girl with shoulder-length dark hair. Parts of her hairstyle were dyed with the colors of the rainbow and her lip gloss was as glittery as the chromatic, sparkling lights that hung from the ceiling. She was striking to look at, but he found his gaze inexplicably drawn to a different person.

Or perhaps it was not so inexplicable.

Nico looked at him and decided that the two weeks after the incident had dulled his memory, because now it was like _he_ was in HD and he couldn’t quite process how defined he was now. He had gone blurry in Nico’s mind and Nico couldn’t find another way of describing how it felt like to see him again, except perhaps comparing it to what one might feel while watching a drawing come to life; he couldn’t look away. The stranger wore a white sweater and jeans and he looked all _great_ and _warm_ and _sunny_ and Nico was filled with the urge to bury his face in his arms or maybe sink to the floor because he suddenly felt _afraid_ , but before he could do that, Percy said Nico’s name.

God damn it, Percy.

Percy was, of course, oblivious to Nico’s silent protests. He had no idea what he was doing. “This is Will Solace and Lou Ellen. I don’t think anyone of us knows Lou’s actual last name. Will, Lou Ellen, this is my friend Nico di Angelo.”

The girl shot him a shy smile, and he tried to reciprocate the gesture but it was hard because he was _distracted_ , okay?

_Will Will Will Will Will. Will._

God. Since when did his thought process mirror that of a stereotypical teenage girl?

 _Will_ was staring at him, lips parted in a perfect ‘O’, and what the hell, was this actually happening? The entire situation seemed way too surreal to be something that happened in real life. This was a scene that happened in those romance novels that Bianca had burned behind their house in Venice on her twelfth birthday, not in real life.

Not like he was implying that he and Will were potentially candidates of a romance novel.

Nico coughed.

He glanced up, and Will was already looking at him, and his eyes were as readable as Nico remembered. They shone bright and blue with recognition, and he really shouldn’t be this happy about that, but he was. “It’s you. Hi.”

The beginnings of a smile pulled the corners of his lips up. “Hi.”

“Do you two know each other?” asked Annabeth. Her gray eyes were fixed upon them with scrutiny.

“We’ve met,” he replied. At the same time, Will said, “Sort of.” Then they met each other’s eyes and Will was positively _beaming_ , and Nico couldn’t hold back a smile this time, because the entire situation was really kind of funny and Will’s smile was contagious.

“So cryptic.” There was a smile on Hazel’s lips, and she mouthed, _‘I approve,’_ and Nico almost choked because that really wasn’t what he was expecting. He shook his head. It wasn’t like that. His sister just shrugged, as if to say, _‘If you say so,’_ in a tone that really meant the opposite.

Will turned to face Hazel. “We’ve met, but not officially.” Then he looked at Nico again and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Will Solace.”

“Nico di Angelo.” Nico rolled his eyes, but he took his hand anyway. The touch sent a jolt of electricity down his spine, warming his insides, and he pulled back like he had been struck by fire. He wondered if he had offended the blonde, but Will didn’t seem to notice.

Inwardly, Nico groaned.

Why did he suddenly care about what a certain person thought of him? Why was he so concerned?

One possible reason behind the strange behavior of his mental faculties made itself known. Nico made sure to punch it so hard—mentally, of course—that it was flying away in a few seconds. No. No. _No._ Not _that_. _It’s just a side effect_ , he told himself, _of unexpectedly seeing him again._

“Nice to meet you, again.”

This time, he replied immediately. “You, too.”

“Okay, so what’s going on?” Piper asked, and Nico vaguely wondered why only the girls were interrupting them. “You’re keeping us all in the dark, guys!” She pointed an accusing finger at both of them.

Nico shrugged, glancing at Will again. “It’s kind of an inside joke. I guess.”

Will laughed. “Our first meeting’s an inside joke. How many people can claim that, huh?”

“Maybe twenty percent of the population. That’s still a lot, Solace.”

-

Their friends continued to pester them about it, but Will was just as closed-mouth as Nico was about the event, and he was glad because he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to tell them about how he had been harassed in the library as of now. Eventually, they moved on to other topics, then Calypso arrived, much to Leo’s relief. He and Will weren’t able to talk directly to each other a lot, but that was okay, because he knew Will’s name now and they were friends with the same people, and somehow that provided him reassurance that he wasn’t going to lose Will again. Or not that easily, because now Will was more than a memory. He was more than a ghost of a stranger, more than an ideal, more than a figment of his thoughts; he was flesh and blood and if Nico leaned forward and reached out he would be able to touch Will’s face.

Not like he could have lost Will in the first place. _Losing_ implied that one had owned the object lost beforehand, or at least had an attachment to it, and neither of those applied to Nico when it came to Will.

“Seaweed Brain, let’s dance.” The speaker was Annabeth, who was tugging at her boyfriend’s hands.

“Sure, Wise Girl. Sorry for stepping on your feet in advance.”

Before he knew it, the rest of the couples in the group followed suit, and ‘couples’ here happened to include everyone except Nico, Will, and Lou Ellen. The latter nudged Will’s shoulder with a suspiciously cheerful grin.

“I’m gonna look for Cecil. Someone has to make sure he hasn’t died every now and then. Was nice meeting you, Nico.”

“Likewise.”

She slipped off her seat and disappeared in the crowd. Will and Nico were alone.

“So,” Will said. “Do you want to go upstairs for a bit? Because it looks like everyone ditched us, and I’m about to go deaf from the music.”

Nico tried to calm the skeletal butterflies in his stomach. It was futile. “Okay.”

They made their way towards the exit, occasionally bumping hands, but that was only because there were people pressing in from all directions, and nothing more happened anyway. Soon, they were upstairs. The hallway was significantly less crowded. It smelled better, too.

“I’ve forgotten what it feels like to breathe fresh air,” Nico commented offhandedly.

Will made a noise of agreement and said something about one getting used to it. Nico wrinkled his nose, which made Will laugh. The next few minutes were spent in silence that bordered on awkward, until finally, Will said, “I just realized something.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You know, we never really broke up.”

There was a big, stupid grin on Will’s lips and Nico felt all the blood in his body rush to his cheeks. The air upstairs was leagues cooler and fresher than the air in the basement, but why did it feel so hot?

 _Side effects_ , he decided, _of being subjected to teasing that bordered on flirting._

Was that what it was, really? _Flirting?_ Or did Will act this way towards everyone?

_Jesus Christ, Nico, you don’t even know if he’s gay,_

Not knowing what to say, he settled for a scowl. The hallway light did nothing to hide the red on his face.

“Relax, Nico. It was a joke.” Will smiled.

Nico did something extremely juvenile that he hadn’t done in a long time. He stuck his tongue out. Will’s expression became the epitome of incredulous; he was laughing _that_ laugh again, and Nico couldn’t take his eyes off him. Then he laughed a little, too, until they were both laughing like a pair of idiots sprawled on the floor. A few people passed them and probably thought they were drunk, high, or just idiotic, but neither of them cared.

“I’m sorry,” Will scratched his head sheepishly. “It’s just that I never thought I’d see you again. But then here you are.”

Wariness immediately eclipses the glee on Nico’s features. He paused for a moment, before softly asking, “Is it a bad thing? Seeing me again, I mean.”

Will raised his eyebrows like he couldn’t quite believe that Nico was asking that question. “What? No! I mean, no. It’s a good thing. Really good.” He paused, too, and when he spoke again his voice was slower and lower. “I think it would be even better if I could see you again, though.”

Words that sent the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. He coughed and covered his mouth in an attempt to hide the smile that was threatening to stretch from ear to ear. His cheeks hurt. “…That wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” The reply was sarcastic, but Will was beaming. “Lend me your phone.”

Nico unlocked his phone and handed it over.

“Nice,” Will remarked as he looked at Nico’s phone case. “This case—it’s Mythomagic-inspired, right?”

“You know of it?” Nico asked, then he almost facepalmed because _duh._

“I used to play it when I was a kid.” Will was holding his own phone in his other hand and was typing something on both phones at the same time. Nico noticed that the case was designed with the glow of a sunrise, which he couldn’t help but think was fitting.

“I still play it.” Half a second later, he felt his face burn. What was it about this person that had him voluntarily blurting unwarranted information? “Sometimes.”

Will grinned at him before handing him back his phone. Across the screen was a new contact page for someone named _‘Will :)’_ and he read the number a few times, trying to commit it to his memory. Then, “That’s cute.”

Nico’s head snapped up. His eyes widened with the motion. “What is?”

“The Mythomagic thing.” He had to look away. The ceiling was suddenly a thousand times more interesting. Why did Will have to stay stuff like that? Nico needed a break. Except he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted one.

_This isn’t happening._

“Hey, Nico.”

“Yes, Solace?”

Will was smiling. Again. Nico could tell. He didn’t know how but he could tell, and how could one person smile so much anyway? “We should play Mythomagic sometime.”

_Did he just…?_

Nico wondered if he was being polite, then decided that he wasn’t. Will seemed far too genuine. His heart was in his throat, beating harshly like he had just run a marathon or two, or swam across the Pacific ocean, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do because—and here he allowed himself to be honest, just for a moment—what Will did to him was dangerous and it kind of scared him. He had spent majority of his life running away from the things that scared him.

Somehow, he always came back to the things that mattered. It was like Percy, and how Nico used to gravitate towards him even when it hurt _so_ much. Only this wasn’t Percy. This was Will.

Then he realized just what he was thinking about and admitting to himself, and inwardly groaned. He was overreacting. For all he knew, Will might not even be gay, and his offer was but a friendly gesture. Nico was getting ahead of himself, and God, he had to stop thinking or he would end up landing himself in a mental hospital.

“I haven’t played in months. My skills are rusty.”

Will was ready. “I haven’t played in _years._ If there’s anyone who should be embarrassed, it’s me.”

“Don’t be,” Nico hastened to assure. “Embarrassed, I mean.”

The blonde looked cautiously hopeful and smug at the same time. “So, does that mean you’ll play with me?”

_Stop thinking._

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Nico pushed himself off the floor, not bothering to go through the customary motions of brushing off imaginary dust from one’s jeans afterward. “You should go back downstairs.”

There was a note of alarm in Will’s tone when he said, “Why?” and Nico inwardly cursed at himself because of how he must have sounded.

“I’m going back to my room. I feel sleepy.”

It was initially said as an excuse, but as Nico thought about it, he realized that it was true. Perhaps it was the stress of being exposed to the wild college party aura, or the surprising comfort of hanging out with his friends. Or maybe it was the shock that came with seeing Will again.

The entire thing felt like a second chance. One that he wasn’t supposed to waste.

Whatever the reason was, his muscles were heavy and his eyelids were droopy and he was _sleepy_. He was also tired—he was _always_ tired—but this was a different kind of tired that he had felt only a few times ever since his family moved out of Venice. It was a good kind of tired. The kind of tired that a hero probably felt after another long day of saving the world, or the kind that a mother felt after giving birth to her long-awaited child, or the kind that a certain cranky college student might feel after a few hours of being subjected to emotional strain that he probably shouldn’t be feeling, but he felt it anyway, and he didn’t really mind as much as he made himself out to.

“Oh.” There was disappointment packed into that single word. Disappointment that Nico was both glad and not glad to hear.

“Yeah…” Nico gulped. “I really want to sleep right now..” _Stop thinking_. “We can negotiate about the Mythomagic thing tomorrow.”

There it was again; that hopeful gleam. _“Oh?”_

He rolled his eyes. “Please say something other than _‘Oh.’_ Tonal variations do not count.”

Will laughed, and it was bright and warm like all his other laughs, but there was something _special_ about that one and it made Nico smile again. “Well, okay. That would be great, actually.” The blonde stood up, too. Nico watched as he did the customary motions of brushing imaginary dust off his jeans.

“See you tomorrow, Will.”

-

He was tucked under two layers of blankets when his phone buzzed against his hipbone. A little groggily, he picked it up, but all traces of annoyance faded from his features when he saw the message, and he felt warmer than he had in a long, long time.

 **_From:_ ** _Will :)  
**Message:** good night :D_

Nico smiled and closed his eyes.


End file.
